The Lost Girl
by treesofsilverleaves
Summary: First of what will hopefully be a series. Lee Maxwell is sucked through a fault in the walls of the universes and falls into a world of fiction. It kind of sucks, but at least she's not alone. She doesn't quite understand it, not yet, but she will always have the Doctor. Doctor/OC
1. Episode 1: A Lost Girl And A Doctor

"I don't want to watch Doctor Who," my younger sister grumbles, folding her arms across her chest. "The new ones are awful."

"But Allie, it's _Doctor Who_!" I say, poking her in the side. "And you promised to watch with us."

"Only because I was drunk!" she protests. "I don't _like_ the new ones. They don't make any sense and they can be really sexist."

"Well, maybe it'll be different now," I suggest. "New new new . . . new Doctor, new show?"

She rolls her eyes at my pathetic joke. "You're hopelessly optimistic, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, but it's Doctor Who," I say, and purse my lips. "I can't _not_ be."

"You're impossible."

"And you promised."

"Fine," Allie grumbles, and plops down next to me, sulking the whole time. I smile and nestle further into my claimed spot in the corner of the couch, popcorn bowl in hand. My best friend and roommate, Meg, is already sitting in the other corner with a jar of Nutella and a spoon, leaving Allie squished between us. "I hate you."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do."

"Except you don't."

"But I really do."

"Love you too."

"Shut up, it's about to start!" Meg whispers aggressively as the theme begins to play. My playful argument with Allie stops abruptly as Meg and I begin to hum along enthusiastically, and even my sister joins in after a moment. However, just as the theme is about to end, the TV goes black.

"Goddamn it," I mutter, and in the dim light I give a sidelong glance to the other two on the sofa. They stare back, and I sigh, knowing it's my turn to get up and fix the damn thing. I hand the popcorn bowl off to Allie and roll off the couch, crawling toward the blank screen. I check the plugs, the wires, the VCR, but nothing seems to be out of place.

"Meg, get over here, I can't figure out what's wrong," I call behind me, but there's no movement or answer. "Meg?"

That's when the lights go out, too. I glance behind me, but I can't see. There's absolutely no light, anywhere. Fumbling, I grab my iPhone out of my back pocket and try to open it up, but that's not working either. I frown and shake it, but the screen remains just as black as my surroundings, and I wonder why it's so dark.

The screen finally switches back on, though I haven't touched a thing, only to reveal static. Then something starts to form out of the static, inching across the screen. A bright, white light shines out, nearly blinding me, and I panic. I scramble backwards, but in my haste and confusion I stumble and fall, and fall, and fall…

…

The first thing I'm aware of is the excruciating pain streaking through my head like lightning. I've never felt pain this agonizing; it's like my brain is on fire.

Moaning feebly, I fist my hands into my hair and curl in on myself. _What the hell happened? _I rack my brains for a moment, trying to remember, but – nothing after the lights went out. So how did I get here? Why does my head hurt so much?

Here, as far as I can tell with my eyes screwed shut and my mind fairly preoccupied, is a floor made out of metal grating. With a deep breath, I try to open my eyes to get a little more understanding to where I am. They feel sticky, fixed together, and I practically have to pry them open. But the light that assaults my vision is too much for me, and I wince, closing them again. _Where the hell am I?_

It takes some effort, but after a moment I loosen my fingers from my hair and reach out, trying to get a feel for where I am. The metal grating is all I can feel, and it's cool against my skin. I roll myself over and press my forehead against it, hoping to alleviate the headache. Needless to say, it doesn't work.

There's footsteps off to the side, and I should really open my eyes, should really get up and figure out why the hell I'm on the floor in who-knows-where, but I just lie there with my face on the floor. "Leona?" calls a voice, stupidly familiar, tinged with a fair amount of concern.

"'s Lee," I slur, muffled by the fact that my face is smooshed against the floor. Then I whimper, realizing belatedly that even my own voice is too much for my now over-sensitive ears. I can feel someone kneeling beside me, and gentle hands grip my shoulders, rolling me over and into a sitting position slowly enough that it doesn't exacerbate the ache in my temples. It still hurts, though.

"Shh, shh," the voice whispers soothingly into my ear, soft enough that it doesn't hurt. "Relax, Leona. Tell me what's wrong."

"My head," I whimper, clenching and unclenching my fists. My eyes are squeezed shut so tight that colors burst behind my eyelids, and I flinch. A thumb strokes my cheek, brushing away a stray tear that I hadn't realized was falling. "It _hurts_."

More footsteps. "Is she okay?" asks another voice, this one more feminine. I notice distantly that it has a British accent, and that the first voice did too. I don't know anyone who has a British accent. So . . . who _are_ these people?

I hunch over with a feeble moan. Too many questions, not nearly enough answers, a strange place with strange people and a blinding headache on top of that. I feel like I'm going to die.

"No, I don't think she is," the first voice murmurs, and the worry that was originally there has morphed into fear. And that makes _me _even more afraid; tears begin to stream from my eyes in what feels like a never-ending wave. The hand cupping my face stills, and the man whom the voice belongs to curses under his breath, scooping me up from the floor and carrying me away. I cry out at being jostled so much.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whispers, quickening his pace. I can't bring myself to open my eyes or to ask what the hell is going on, though I desperately want to.

"What's wrong with her?" asks the other voice, the girl. "She's never been this bad."

"Not when you've seen her, no," he says, taking one final turn and setting me down on something blissfully soft. A bed. _Oh thank god. _"But most of what you've seen is later on. In the early days – the _very _early days – it gets so much worse."

"_This_ much worse?" He doesn't answer.

I curl into the bed, ignoring the strange buzzing noise that starts up above me. My head still feels like a disaster zone, but I'm hoping maybe some sleep will help with that.

"Leona, I just need you to open your eyes for me," the man says, gently grasping my chin and pulling it up. I groan a little, but somehow I know he won't leave me alone until I do as he says, so I pry oven my eyes and stare up into his face. My entire body goes cold.

"Hello," he smiles. I am beyond speechless. My mind is frozen. I can't even process this; it's just too impossible!

"Oh," I say, because apparently I'm not _that _speechless. Then my eyes roll back into my head and everything disappears as the world goes wonderfully, wonderfully black.

Why yes, I have fainted.

…

This time I wake up much more comfortably, though still pretty achy and extremely confused. _What kind of dream was that_? It _was_ a dream, right? Except I vividly remember the pain I felt, the pounding headache that ravaged my temples. It's gone now, the fire has died down to ashes, which is a relief, but I'm still reeling. My head feels full of cotton; I'm disoriented and I just want to go back to sleep, but something is bothering me and I can't until I find out what it is.

I'm in a bed this time, which is a relief, but even without looking I can tell that it's not _my_ bed. Once again, I pry my eyes open, and look down. It's a plain white single bed, definitely not mine. I glance around the room, which is definitely not my room, or any room I know, and start to panic.

_Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,_ I think, twisting left and right. I don't know where I am. I _should_ know where I am – last time I checked, I was at home and the lights had just gone out. Or was that a dream? Or is _this_ a dream? No, it can't be a dream, it feels too real.

It looks like I could be in some sort of hospital ward, with the heart monitor set up next to my bed and strange equipment set up all around, but the equipment is all wrong and it doesn't look like any hospital I've ever seen. My breath quickens until it feels like I'm not even breathing and I hunch over on myself. The heart monitor is beeping frantically, keeping time with my racing heart.

I can hear footsteps growing louder and louder, and two people burst into the room. Out of the corner of my eye, they seem to be a man and a woman. Perhaps the ones that were there when I first woke up before? But no, they couldn't be. That was a dream. Wasn't it?

The woman crouches by my bedside and tries to put a steadying hand on my shoulder. Instinctively, I flinch it off, and curl further into myself. The man races about, fiddling with the equipment.

"What's wrong?" the woman asks, sounding concerned, but I'm pretty sure she's not asking me.

"I don't know," the man says, frustrated. "Her heart's racing, but there's nothing physically wrong. She's – she's panicking. I don't know why."

"Well then, do something!"

The man stops short, walks over to my side, and grips my shoulders.

"Leona, stop," he orders, looking me straight in the eyes. I stare at him, and I think I've stopped breathing altogether. "Do you know where you are?"

"N-no," I gasp out eventually. But I think I do. He's still holding my shoulders; they're shaking. This has got to be a dream.

It sure doesn't feel like one.

"You're in the TARDIS med bay," he says slowly. In the back of my mind, I'm affronted to be talked to like a two-year-old, but mostly I'm just finding it hard to think. "You fainted, from the headache. We were worried something more serious might have happened, but thankfully not. Do you remember what happened? Are you alright?" And then he goes off rambling and _god_, my headache might just be coming back. Now he's scanning me with the sonic screwdriver.

The eleventh Doctor is scanning me with his sonic screwdriver. Screw headache, I'm starting to get a bit light-headed. This just isn't _possible_. He's not _real_.

"This isn't real," I verbalize unintentionally, dazed. Both the Doctor and the woman, whom I now recognize as Clara Oswald, stop short, gaping at me.

"What . . . makes you think that?" the Doctor asks carefully, slowly putting the sonic screwdriver aside. He takes my hands in his, and I have to wonder how it is that he is continually so gentle. Then I remind myself that this is a dream, and this is just my subconscious trying to tell me something. Probably that I need to stop watching so much TV. And get a boyfriend. "Leona?"

"I'm sorry?" I ask, then I realize I've been talking out loud. Oops. That was probably not good. Then again, this is a dream, right? "Ohh, my head feels fuzzy."

"Is she okay?" Clara mutters off to the side. I blink and shake my head, trying to focus, but it's too hard.

"I really don't know," the Doctor says, sounding really worried. He pulls me into a tight hug, my arms trapped between our two bodies and my face mushed against his chest, and buries his nose into my hair. I'm really confused by what's happening and this really has to be a dream because I'm being hugged by the real live actual Doctor and he actually seems to know me and care about _me_.

Clara quietly leaves the room and the Doctor and I stay exactly as we are. I couldn't even move if I wanted to. My vision goes blurry and I think I might be crying. "What is _happening_?" I hiccup. He doesn't answer me, just holds me tighter.

…

I don't even realize I've fallen asleep until I wake up. And it is quite a disappointing awakening, because I'm still in the TARDIS med bay.

I haven't woken up at my apartment, or my parents' house, or even a real hospital. I'm exactly where I was the last time I woke up, on the same bed, hooked up to the same heart monitor. It's a bit quicker than it probably should be, but a lot slower than it was last time I heard it. That's good. Probably. Yeah.

This time I don't panic. I don't even sit up. I stare at the ceiling and ponder the mysteries of the universe. Or more specifically: why I haven't woken up from this damn dream already. _After all, it has to be a dream_, I try to convince myself. The Doctor and Clara Oswin Oswald are not supposed to exist, they _don't_ exist.

The Doctor is sitting in a chair pulled up next to the bed, and he just watches me watching the ceiling. Considering how quiet he is, and how rarely this regeneration is quiet, I wonder what he's thinking about. Usually the silence is when he feels guilty, or is thinking about his past. Or both. The two tend to interconnect.

"I don't understand," I whisper, surprising myself by even having the courage to speak aloud. He doesn't say anything, just waits for me to continue. "This isn't – this isn't supposed to be real. This is supposed to be a fantastical dream. So why am I so scared?" I close my eyes, not wanting to see his face, not wanting to see him seeing _me_ when I'm this stupidly vulnerable. "This _is _just a dream . . . isn't it?"

"…the older I grew, the more afraid of this day I got," he says after a pause, and it sounds to me like he's avoiding the question. I open my eyes and watch out of the corner as he runs his hand through his hair. "I always knew it would be hard, but I never realized just how hard."

"What are you saying?" I ask, fear and confusion clear in my voice. Does that mean . . . he's met me before? _Of course he has, don't be stupid_. He does know my name, my full name, the one I never go by unless strictly necessary. But even for a dream, this is too unreal. Dreams are never this complicatedly in-depth.

"I'm saying this is it," he tells me quietly, his voice breaking a little. "This is your beginning. That's why you think this is a dream. But you're also scared, and that's because deep down you know it's not."

I breathe in sharply and roll over onto my side, turning my back on him, and watch the heart monitor beeping away. I don't want to hear this, I don't want to listen. He's wrong; this is impossible, this is a _dream. It has to be_.

Eventually the crisp, zigzagging green line smudges against the black background. I'm crying again. I don't like crying. I hate crying - I hate this - I hate myself - and most of all I hate him, because he's right. Everything's so sharp and defined, pain and exhaustion and fear that's more than just the mindless stuff found in nightmares. Too real, even if the situation is completely unreal. In my heart, I know that I'm awake. And it hurts.

It hurts like hell.

I curl in on myself and choke on a sob. Immediately the Doctor springs around the bed and kneels so that I'm once again looking into his green eyes. "Shh, shh, shh," he hushes me, stroking my hair. "It's going to be okay."

"Why is this happening to me?" I keen, scrunching my eyes shut. _This isn't fair. _"I wanna go home."

"I know," he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss my forehead. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Those words just serve to make me cry harder, like a confirmation of my worst fear, the fear that I will never _get _home. And I can't deny it any longer. I, Leona Maxwell, am stuck in a world that I thought only existed on a television show, sans everything I've ever come to rely on in my life. Even with the Doctor right next to me, trying to offer me comfort in any way he knows how, I feel so terribly, terribly alone.

…

Eventually, I cry myself out completely, until I'm just numb through and through. The Doctor stays by my side the whole time, stroking my hair and trying to keep me from hurting myself when I start to sob so hard I almost hyperventilate and pass out. At some point I just lay there, face stiff with dried tears, trying to drink in what little comfort I can take from his touch. It's not much – he is, in all technicality, a stranger to me – but I'm thankful anyway.

He seems to think I've fallen asleep again, because he starts to speak softly, about things that I probably shouldn't be hearing. Timelines, and all. "Oh, Leona," he murmurs. He sounds so sad. "I'm so sorry. I know – I know how it hurts. And you're so _young_. I don't think I ever realized just how young you were. But it'll get better. It won't ever go away, but pain can fade. You're not alone, you'll always have me. And oh, the adventures we'll go on!"

I want to be enchanted by his words, the charming, nostalgic way he talks. I can remember all the lovely things I ever imagined I would do with the Doctor. Yet the word _adventure _chills me to the bones. For the Doctor, _adventure _is synonymous with _danger. Adventure _is synonymous with _death._

And I don't want to deal with my own mortality on top of losing everything I've ever known.

After a few more moments of silence, the Doctor sighs and clambers to his feet. He leans down to kiss my forehead again, whispering that he'd be back soon, he was just going to let the TARDIS drift through space instead of flying through the vortex, and leaves. Not long after, there's a knock on the med bay door. It's got to be Clara, though, because I don't really think he would knock.

"I know you're awake," she calls cheerfully. I crack my eyes open and sit up, trying to rub away the blurriness and the leftover saltwater. "Ah, good morning, sleeping beauty."

"How'd you know?" I ask. "Even the Doctor didn't know, and apparently he's known me for _years_." We both ignore the bitterness dripping from the end of that sentence.

"You've been sleeping ever since you got here," she shrugs, setting a tray full of food on my lap and laughing as my rebellious stomach growls loudly, reminding me I haven't eaten in who-knows-how-long. Then she smiles sheepishly. "Also, it was a lucky guess."

I snort, covering my mouth briefly as the sound slips out. Smiling at her in thanks, I begin to pick at my breakfast. I'm hungry, but it's really hard to even think about eating.

"Is it even morning?" I ask tiredly in an attempt to make small talk, mostly joking but still curious. Time on the TARDIS is pretty weird, as far as I can tell. _Night _is just when you go to sleep.

"I'm not really sure," Clara ponders, and tilts her head to the side. "Technically, I suppose not, I've been awake for about five hours now, according to my watch."

I nod, feeling a strange satisfaction that my theory has been confirmed, and take a bite out of some bacon. It's cooked just the way I like it. In fact, the whole tray is filled with my favorite breakfast foods made exactly how I would have if I had been the one to put it together. It is . . . extremely disconcerting, but also nice. Kind of.

Clara fills the silence with a story about where she and the Doctor went just recently. I can't tell where they are from the tale, but I'm also too afraid to just ask. Instead I just listen while gorging myself on my food, even finding it in me to laugh at some particularly hilarious moments. By the time I'm done eating, I almost feel better. I set the tray aside and continue to listen intently, hand instinctively reaching up to play with my necklace.

I stop short. My necklace.

Clara's voice trails off as she realizes that I've stopped paying attention altogether. I'm staring at the ornament sitting innocently in my palm. A large copper locket with a small galaxy painted onto the cover, and pictures of my family inside; I've had it since I was fifteen. And amazingly, I still have it now. This necklace and the clothes on my back, they're mine, they're all I have left of my family and my old life. I clutch the locket to my chest reverently and take a deep breath, thanking whatever deity may be out there that I still have this one memento, this one piece of home.

When I glance back up, Clara is looking at me with sad, knowing eyes. I try to offer her a smile, but it's weak and strained, hardly a smile at all. All the same, she smiles back, taking my hand and holding it tight. I squeeze back and almost cry again because the Doctor was right about another thing. I have lost my home and my family and my world, and I don't think I'll ever recover from that, but at least I'm not really alone.

…

The Doctor finds us chatting quietly, trying to keep my mind off of my situation through some easy banter, though I still hold onto Clara's hand like it's a lifeline. They nod at each other and Clara smiles and leans over to kiss me on the cheek before leaving us alone.

He dithers in the doorway a moment, hands hidden behind his back, holding something. I look at him curiously, and give him a hesitant smile when he looks in my direction. He grins back widely and bounds over to my side. "What's that you've got?" I ask cautiously, nodding my head towards his middle.

"I might have made a bit of a pit stop to get you this," he says with a flourish, triumphantly presenting me with a beautifully wrapped package. Furrowing my brows, I accept the package from his hands and carefully, without ripping the paper, unwrap it. It's a book with a soft sunset-orange binding and no title; with a flip through the creamy blank pages I realize it's a journal. "It's yours, to record your adventures in."

There's that word again, _adventures_. I flinch the slightest bit, trying to keep it small and unnoticeable, but the Doctor sees it anyway. He frowns and grabs my hand. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I just…" I sigh. "I'm sorry. I wish I could say I understand what's going on, but I just want to go _home_. And it's really hard to accept that I won't be."

His face softens, and he sits on the edge of the bed. "Don't be sorry," he insists, placing his hand over top mine on the journal. "Of course it's going to be hard."

"All I can think, all I can ask myself is why haven't I woken up yet?" I sniffle, furiously wiping tears from my eyes before they can fall, and avoid his gaze. "I know it's not a dream, but I _wish_ it was."

"I know you do," murmurs the Doctor, grasping my hand and brushing the tears away himself, much gentler than I had. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," I chuckle weakly, throwing his own words back at him. I try to smile, to be strong, but I'm failing. Abysmally. "It's not like it's your fault."

He smiles sadly and says nothing, just rests his thumb on the side of my face. Then, slowly, he pulls me into a hug, kissing the top of my head. I rest my cheek on his chest, pressed against the stiff material of his shirt. It reminds me of the kind of shirts my dad wears for work.

_Wore. The kind of shirts he __**wore **__for work. _I swallow hard.

"Did you mean it?" I ask quietly.

"Mean what?"

"When you said it'll get better." I fist my hands into the back of his shirt. "When you said I'm not alone."

He huffs out a low, breathy laugh. "I thought you were asleep."

"I know. Just answer the question."

He tightens his arms around me. And it's so strange how I feel so comfortable with this man who I've never met before, who is in all technicality a stranger.

"…of course I meant it. Every last word."

…

It's a bit awkward, at least for me, when we eventually separate. I have to wipe away a few more tears. Everything is just so overwhelming, and wanting my family – Mom and Dad, Allie, and my little brother Vinnie – is like a bone-deep, ever-present ache. My necklace is like a lifeline. I'd always fiddled with it as a nervous habit, but now I do so more to reassure myself that it's still there.

The Doctor holds out his hand to help me up, catching me by the elbow when my knees start to buckle. I guess I'd been in that bed longer than I thought. He leads me out of the med bay and through the halls of the TARDIS.

"Where are we going?" I question, turning my head in every direction, trying to memorize details and directions. A futile attempt, but I do it anyway, because this is the first time it truly sinks in that I'm in the _TARDIS_. The thought fills me with both excitement and dread. Excitement because the TARDIS is the best ship out there, and dread because I'm seriously afraid of getting lost in here. _What if she doesn't like me?_ I wonder nervously. Would I wander into the hallways and just never come out?

"I thought it would be a good time to show you your room."

I didn't think of that before. "I have a room?"

"Of course you have a room," he smiles back at me, though there's a slight stiffness to it. "Everyone does."

I nod and allow him to pull me further into the TARDIS. "Is it usually this far?" I ask exasperatedly when we've turned our tenth corner and apparently still haven't reached it. He laughs and squeezes my hand.

"No, actually," he tells me with an amused smile. "She knows it's the first time you're seeing her, she's showing off."

As if on cue, the ceiling lights flicker, almost like the TARDIS was scolding the Doctor. My mouth quirks up at one corner. _Well, at least I know she likes me_.

Finally, after turning down three more corners, going left at two forks, and, strangely enough, going down a big red slide, we come to a stop outside a bright yellow door with a white lion motif painted in the center. I groan at the pun on my name. _And people wonder why I go by Lee._

The Doctor gives me an encouraging look, so hesitantly I reach out, open the door, and step into the room.

It looks nothing like my room at home, and I'm not sure whether I'm relieved or not. Frankly, it's gorgeous. The walls are a pale orange, the furniture all white with accents of a darker orange. I cross over to the far side of the room, which has a large window that has to be fake, overlooking an ocean scene. To the right of the window is a panel with what looks like a keypad. Pressing one of the buttons turns the beach into a city view. My eyes widen and I grin, looking forward to playing around with that.

Stuff – books, makeup, art supplies – is scattered about the room, making it look completely lived-in. There are no photographs, though. Suddenly I feel like I've swallowed a brick.

Is this really what's going to happen to me? Not only have I lost my family, but the fact that what is apparently my room is devoid of anything actually personal says a lot about my situation. My hands start shaking.

The Doctor threads his fingers through mine. "I know what you're thinking," he whispers in my ear, leading me to the bed. We sit down together, and he taps the orange journal clutched in my other hand. I'd forgotten about it. "Don't worry. Keeping your room up to date is hard, timelines and everything, so you'll keep your pictures in here."

Relieved that my future isn't as bleak as I'd feared, I relax a little. (Dear lord this bed is comfortable.) "Are you even allowed to tell me that?" I jest.

"'course I am, it's a relatively small detail, wouldn't change a thing," he waves off, before pursing his lips. "You were joking, weren't you?"

"Something like that," I admit, a bit embarrassed. "It was pretty lame. That, or you're just oblivious."

"I wouldn't hedge my bets on that if I were you," he jokes back. I chuckle, and without thinking, lean my head against his shoulder. It's nice, and for a moment I can pretend that this _is_ a dream, a wonderful dream, but nothing more than a dream. I sigh.

"We should probably get Clara back to the Maitlands," the Doctor suggests after a while, albeit reluctantly. "We were actually going there when you appeared."

"Alright," I say, standing and stretching until I hear a very satisfying _pop_. The Doctor doesn't even grimace like people normally do, I note, as if he's used to these little habits of mine. I feel almost offended, a deep sense of injustice settling over me. As much as I know from watching him on the television, I can't actually predict anything this man will do or say. There may be all sorts of little quirks that just never made it into the show, things I don't know, and it is entirely unfair that he apparently knows these things about me.

My train of thought is derailed as the Doctor takes my hand again. He does that a lot, I realize. Is that one of those things I just didn't notice before? He usually only holds people's hands when he runs, doesn't he? We're not running now.

The console room is only a few feet away now, and I have to blink a few times because it definitely wasn't there before. It's still kind of hard to reconcile all the amazing, if disconcerting, things the TARDIS can do. She's biological, technological, bigger on the inside; she can rearrange her rooms and hallways; she can drive herself if she really wants to. There's probably more that I don't even know yet; I'm kind of excited to find out.

Clara pokes her head out of a white door to the left. "Taking me back, then?" she asks.

"Yep," I tell her. I notice that she didn't actually use the word _home_. My heart pangs. _I wanna go home._

"Could we make a stop at the supermarket?"

"Clara I'm not your taxi service," the Doctor says.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes," he grumbles, pouting when she gives me a not-so-subtle wink. I chuckle softly, slipping my hand out of his and leading the way into the console room, because I really want to see it. It's the most important room in the TARDIS, the only one I actually recognize, and though I've never been fond of this particular look – it was always just too cold and unfeeling for me – I find myself in awe.

The Doctor walks past where I've stopped short, taking in everything around me, and I catch a glimpse of the smug, pleased look on his face. I roll my eyes and go to stand next to him, making sure to stay out of the way when he starts pressing buttons and pulling levers. He looks like he's doing a particularly ridiculous dance around the console. The TARDIS jolts, nearly causing me to fall over as I stumble to the railing and cling to it.

"Is it always like this?" I yelp.

"Yep!" Clara yells back, clinging to her own railing. I groan.

…

We walk into the Maitlands' house about an hour later, according to my internal clock, each of our arms loaded with groceries.

"Clara, did you really need all of this?" I ask as we dump our bags on the floor of the kitchen and start putting things away.

"I'm going to be making a soufflé, so I'm going to need extra just in case," she explains, smiling determinedly. "It's my mum's recipe, I never could get it right, but I'm going to do it this time."

I stiffen slightly, remembering that Clara had mentioned her mom's soufflé recipe during _The Name of the Doctor. _I don't want to be going on one of the Doctor's _adventures _any time soon, preferably never. Then I force myself to relax, reminding myself that part of Clara's whole shtick was the soufflé thing; of course she's going to mention it more than once, and that does _not_ mean I'm about to be sucked into a deadly situation just yet.

"Hey, you two should stay for dinner!" Clara suggests. I expect the Doctor to say no, but to my surprise, he actually accepts her invitation. We finish putting the groceries away just as Angie and Artie arrive with their homework in hand.

"Oh, no," Angie says, seeing what ingredients Clara has chosen to keep out for dinner. "You're going to try and make a soufflé again, aren't you?"

"My mum's soufflé, yeah," Clara nods, already beginning to put some of the ingredients together. The Doctor wanders off, probably to go fiddle with something he shouldn't be, while I stand awkwardly off to the side and try to convince myself that I am not reliving an episode of the television show I am now stranded in. It doesn't work. "This time I'll get it right. This time I will be Soufflé Girl!"

I turn on my heel, ready to run to the TARDIS and hide away in my room until this is all over, but Artie taps me on the shoulder. "By the way, Miss Lee, this came earlier." He holds out a letter that looks positively ancient. "It's addressed to you."

"Thank you, Artie," I say quietly after a moment, reluctantly taking the envelope. I should have been expecting this; of course after all I've already been through nothing can go my way. It's distressing that already events aren't going according to what I've seen on the show. I cross my fingers and hope that the changes will only be minor.

Since the side bearing the wax seal says _Open When Alone, _I take the letter into the other room and sit on the sofa. My hands are shaking as I open the envelope and take out both the letter and the candle inside.

_My dearest Lee,_

_ The Doctor has, at various points in his timeline, entrusted me with the contact information of various companions as a means to contact you in the event of an emergency, and I fear one has now arisen. In your future you will tell me which particular contact to send this to, so I assume that this letter will have reached you, as planned, on April 10__th__ 2013. Please find and light the enclosed candle. It will release a soporific which will induce a trance state, enabling direct communication across the years._

I glance at the candle with trepidation, stuff it back in the envelope, take a deep breath, and continue reading.

_ However, as I realize you have no reason to trust this letter as of yet, I have taken the liberty of embedding the same soporific into the fabric of the paper you are now holding. Speak soon!_

I sigh, and fall sideways as the world goes dark.


	2. Episode 2: This Is Where She Begins

When I open my eyes it's less like I'm waking up and more like I've just blinked. Just as I expected, I'm sitting in a high-backed chair at a pentagonal table in a room that looks like a lava lamp, with its abundance of swirling and vibrant colors. Next to me is a Sontaran, next to him is a human, and next to her is a Silurian: Strax, Jenny, and Vastra. The Paternoster Gang.

I have to keep myself from staring as Vastra hands me a teacup. It is . . . so different, seeing her in real life. Knowing it's not makeup, that those scales are real. It's the same with Strax, although I notice that he still bears a particular resemblance to a baked potato.

"Thanks," I murmur, taking the tea with only slightly shaky hands. It's soothing to feel the warmth spreading to my fingers, and smell the sweet, herbal scent, even if I'm not British and much prefer coffee. "So, I'm sleeping?"

"Yes," Vastra nods, sipping her tea. "Time travel has always been possible in dreams. We are awaiting only one more participant."

"Oh, no," Strax groans. "Not the one with the gigantic head?"

"It's hair, Strax," Jenny corrects him.

"Hair!" he harrumphs. As if on cue, a puff of smoke appears in the corner of my eye. When I turn, River is sitting next to me, grinning.

"Leona!" she says, leaning over and pulling me into a hug. Well, this is uncomfortable. And crazy. I mean, I've known this situation was crazy all along, but now I get the feeling I've been thrust into a Doctor Who fanfiction . . . that thought makes everything twice as uncomfortable. "It's been so long!"

"It's Lee," I say faintly, patting her back awkwardly. "And, um, this is the first time I've met you."

"Oh," she falters, pulling back quickly. _Is that a tear she just wiped away? _Now I feel awful for telling her. "I'm so sorry."

"No, River no, it's fine." I flash her a nervous smile. "No harm done, see?"

She looks a little relieved that I at least know who she is, and grants me a smile of her own. It's small though, tinged with something almost like heartbreak, and I wonder who I am to her that she's this upset when I don't know her.

"Er," Vastra clears her throat. "Professor, why don't you help yourself to some tea?"

"Yes, thank you," the professor says, and with a slight flourish of her hand holds up a glass of wine. She takes a sip and sighs.

"How did you do that?" Jenny asks, surprised.

"Disgracefully," River answers with a wicked smirk, taking another sip. She looks to Vastra.

"Yes, perhaps we should get down to the business at hand," the Silurian says. She reaches out a hand above the center of the table, calling forth a hologram of a dirty man sitting on a dirty bunk, rocking back and forth.

"Clarence DeMarco," she tells us. "Murderer, under sentence of death. He offered us this, in exchange for his life." She waves her hand through the image, which blurs and changes to a sequence of numbers and symbols.

"Space-time coordinaes," I say without thinking, and flush. The others don't even spare me a glance, as if they're used to me knowing things normal humans, the Doctor's other companions, wouldn't. I refocus my attention onto the hologram.

"This, Mr. DeMarco claims, is the location of the Doctor's greatest secret."

"It's not, not really, not technically," I mutter, rubbing my face tiredly. "But go on."

"What else did this DeMarco tell you?" River questions. "He didn't buy his life with some coordinates – how did he prove their value?"

"One word, only," Vastra says.

"What word?"

"One I'd heard in connection with the Doctor before."

I can't help it this time. "Trenzalore," I whisper, closing my eyes. I hate this episode.

"Yes," Vastra confirms once again.

River's face turns hard. "How exactly did he describe what he was giving to you?"

Once again, the Silurian waves her hand, and the hologram shows DeMarco's face. "The Doctor has a secret, you know," he says. I shiver, swallowing hard, and cross my arms. "He has one he will take to the grave. And it is discovered."

"You misunderstood," River says.

"How?" she asks. To the side, Jenny touches her cheek and glances away with a confused expression on her face. I open my mouth to say something, then clamp it shut. _Should_ I say something? What if I try to change something, and the change just makes everything worse? Can I take that chance? "What misunderstanding, tell me?"

"He said _it is discovered, _correct?" River begins to explain. "But he didn't—"

I see Jenny stiffen, and I can't hold back this time. I won't be responsible for anyone coming to harm, not if I can help it. I stand abruptly, causing my chair to crash to the ground behind me, and run to Jenny. "Jenny, you need to wake up now, before it's too late," I say urgently. "I know you forgot to lock the doors, someone's got in, if you don't get away now they will stop your heart."

"What?" she demands, shaking. Around us, the others begin shouting in confusion and worry. She blinks, and a single tear carves a path down her cheek. "Oh."

"Wake up!" I yell, shaking her.

"Sorry, ma'am, so sorry, so sorry, so sorry . . . Lee was right. I think I've been murdered," Jenny whispers. The image of her starts to fade, causing the rest of us to cry out again.

"Jenny!" her wife cries. My legs buckle, and I nearly fall to my knees in shock.

"I couldn't save her," I whisper, clenching my fists. Fingernails dig into my palms. Jenny continues to fade. "I'm sorry."

"Jenny, can you hear me?"

"Speak to us, boy!" Strax yells.

"Jenny!"

But she's gone.

River is the first to regain her senses. "You're under attack. You must wake up now," she says urgently, standing up, "just wake up, do it!" She slaps Vastra across the face, and the Silurian promptly disappears. "You too, Strax!"

Grabbing her wineglass, she throws the liquid into his face, causing him to vanish immediately. Then she seizes my elbow and pulls me to her side, almost protectively. The dreamscape goes dark, the swirling colors now frenzied and sinister. The Whisper Men manifest in swirls of black smoke. I squeak, consumed by fear, and stand closer to River and her protection.

"Tell the Doctor," they whisper. "Tell the Doctor. Tell the Doctor."

"Tell him what?" River demands, far braver than I. One of the Whisper Men steps forward, pointing at us menacingly.

"His friends are lost for evermore," it chants.

Another steps forward to finish the rhyme, also pointing at us. "Unless he goes to Trenzalore."

"No," River gasps. "You can't say that! He can't go there, you know he can't!"

Distantly, I hear a crash. "_Doctor!"_ screams a voice. Clara's voice. _What's going on?_ I don't remember this.

River turns to me, placing her hands on my shoulders. "Leona, listen to me very carefully. The Doctor can _never_ go to Trenzalore, and neither can you!"

"What?" I whimper, confused. Why does my involvement in this have to go beyond that of a normal companion? Why can't I know where I fit into things? "What do you mean, _me_?"

"_Clara, what is it? What's—Leona?" _This time it's the Doctor's voice. _"What happened?"_

"_I don't know, I just found her like this!"_

River's grip tightens momentarily. "You must not go to Trenzalore!"

"_Leona!"_

…

"Leona, please, wake up," murmurs the very worried, almost desperate, voice of the Doctor, and it sounds a lot less far-off. I must have left the conference call. I scrunch my eyes tighter for a moment, and then blink them open; my vision swims for a moment, then clears.

The Doctor's face hovers above me, looking utterly relieved. I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I try to swallow, but my throat is too try, so I cough instead.

He helps me to sit up, accepting a glass of water from Clara and holding it to my lips. I gulp the liquid down eagerly, nearly choking myself when I drink too fast. "What happened?" I rasp.

"We were hoping you would have the answer to that," Clara says, taking the glass and setting it aside. The Doctor pulls me up from where I am – the floor, apparently – and sets me down on the sofa gently. "I came in to ask if you wanted a drink while we waited for the soufflé to cook, but you were unconscious, on the floor. You looked like you were having some kind of fit, shaking and sweating."

I take a deep breath. "…I was in this, um, conference call. Kind of." Running a trembling hand through my hair, I try to figure out how to explain what in the world is going on. "V-Vastra, she sent me this letter, it made me fall asleep, so I kind of time traveled through the dream? And Strax and Jenny were there too, and River—"

"River was there too?" the Doctor ask, and tenses up even further, sharing a glance with Clara. I furrow my brows and nod.

"Um, yeah," I say. "But look, Vastra gathered us to tell us about this man – he was a murderer, tried to buy his freedom with space-time coordinates."

"What coordinates?"

"To Trenzalore. _The Doctor has a secret he will take to the grave. It is discovered," _I quote softly. "That's what he said. And before you ask, it was most definitely Trenzalore."

"Right," he sighs, voice cracking. "Trenzalore. Right. What happened then?"

"Well, we kind of talked a little bit, but then Jenny was attacked by some kind of monster. I tried to help her, honestly, Doctor, I tried to make her wake up, but I was too late, it's my fault she might be dead," I babble, nearly bursting into tears. Why didn't I just _remember? _I could have saved her. I could have saved her. _"I could have saved her."_

The Doctor looks surprised for a minute, then gathers me into his arms. "You did the best you could," he whispers, kissing my forehead. "That's all that matters, okay?" I sniffle and nod into his neck.

"And then there were these creatures," I continue, knowing I have to finish my story, no matter how much I'd rather pretend it just never happened. "Men with blank white faces like skeletons, and really really sharp teeth, the Whisper Men. They said that – that if you don't go to Trenzalore, Vastra and Strax and J-Jenny will die." My voice dies down to a sigh. "And then I woke up."

Clara, who'd left at some point, now comes back with three mugs of tea. She sets two of them down on the coffee table before the Doctor and me, keeping the last one for herself. The Doctor rubs his face and picks up his mug. He looks almost . . . scared. Sad. I can see tears sparkling in his eyes.

"River said we must never go to Trenzalore," I say in a small voice. "But what about Vastra and Strax and Jenny?"

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, voice cracking once more. He squeezes my shoulder once and then lets go, standing and walking straight out of the house. Clara looks back and forth between his retreating form and me, appears to come to a decision, and hurries after him. I'm kind of glad. I need a minute to myself.

What did he mean by apologizing? Did he mean we're not going to save them? Or was he just apologizing in general; for the situation, for the danger, for everything? If we do go to save them, what's going to happen? Everything's different from what I remember, sometimes in subtle ways, sometimes not so much. But then everything's similar enough that it's driving me crazy. I can only guess what will be the same and what won't, and I hate it.

I can't deal with the danger like the Doctor and his companions. They can always find it in themselves to be brave, even when they're so scared they just want to cry. I can't do that. I'll end up crying and screaming and trying to hide. I'll end up ruining everything. I'll end up getting killed, or worse, I'll end up getting other people killed.

Frustrated, I lash out, kicking one of the legs of the coffee table. The teacups rattle delicately in their saucers, some of the liquid sloshing over the side. It doesn't make me feel any better, not that I truly expected it to. I stand and wander outside to sit on the Maitlands' front stoop. I can see the TARDIS sitting in the driveway, the door ajar. I don't want to, though, so I look away. All I can think is that I want to go home. All I want is to go home.

The Doctor finds me there a few minutes later, staring down at my hands.

"I don't think I can do this," I admit, feeling him sit down next to me. "Any of it – the uncertainty, the time-traveling, the danger. I've already lost so much, how can I possibly make new friends when I know I'm only going to lose them in the end? I just – I'm so scared."

His sad old eyes gaze into mine; I feel like he's staring into my soul. I hiccup, tears welling in my eyes.

He sighs, loops an arm around my shoulders, and kisses my hair. Leaning his forehead against mine, the Doctor gazes into my eyes with an intensity that makes me shiver; whether out of discomfort or something else entirely, I can't say. "Leona Maxwell," he says. "You have nothing to be scared of. Not while I'm here."

I blink, sniffle a bit, and he pulls me into a hug. It's embarrassing to say, but I cling to him. Well, I don't have anything else to cling onto, so why shouldn't I?

He pulls back slightly after a moment. "Now, do want to help me save our friends?"

Still uneasy, but surprisingly enough feeling a little better, I give him a shaky smile. "Yeah," I say. "Yeah, I think I'd like that."

…

"Are you alright?" Clara asks as the Doctor leads me back inside the TARDIS and under the console.

"Oh, um, yeah," I say, avoiding her eyes. "Perfectly fine. I believe we were talking Trenzalore?"

"Yes, Trenzalore," the Doctor says grimly, beginning to work on some of the wiring. "I've heard the name, of course. Dorium mentioned it, a few others. Always suspected what it was, never wanted to find out myself."

"River would know, though," he continues, pulling down a cable. "River always knew. Right, Leona, come here, give me your hand." I approach him hesitantly, a little intimidated by this sudden mood change. "I'm linking you into the TARDIS telepathic circuit, it'll sting a bit."

"_Mother of—" _I curse as he jabs the cable into my palm. "A little more warning next time?"

"Okay, but what is Trenzalore?" Clara asks. "Is it the big secret Lee was talking about?"

"No," the Doctor says.

"Okay, what then?"

"When you are a time traveler, there is one place you must never go," he explains. "One place in all of space and time you must never, ever find yourself."

"Where?"

"Your grave," I clarify. "His grave. _The Doctor has a secret he will take to the grave. It is discovered. _It's not the secret that was discovered. Trenzalore is . . . where he's buried."

"How can you have a grave?" Clara asks as we walk up the steps to the console.

"Because we all do," he says simply. "Somewhere out there in the future, waiting for us. The trouble with time travel, you can actually end up visiting.'

"But you're not going to," Clara insists. "You just said it's the one place you must never go. River said you mustn't."

"But he is going to," I correct her. "It is incredibly dangerous, not to mention stupid, not to mention breaking so many of the rules of time travel, but. We've got to save them."

"They're our friends," he confirms. "No point in telling you this is too dangerous?"

"None at all," she says. "How can we save them?"

"Apparently . . . by breaking into my own tomb!" He slams down one of the many levers on the console and the TARDIS dematerializes with a groan. The three of us are thrown off balance as the ship jerks this way and that.

"Is that supposed to happen?" I shriek, clutching onto the edge of the console for dear life. It's about ten times worse than the first two times I traveled in the TARDIS

"Not really!" the Doctor exclaims, trying to keep some semblance of control. It doesn't work. At all. "She just figured out where we're going, she's against it. I'm about to cross my own timeline in the biggest way possible, and the TARDIS doesn't like it!"

"No kidding!" I yell back.

Sparks fly from the console, a few of them catching my hands and burning them. I hiss and let go of the console instinctively, getting thrown to the floor in the process. Then, with one final lurch, the TARDIS goes dark and still.

I groan slightly and push myself off the floor. "Now what?"

"She doesn't want to land, she's shut down," he says, hopping up and over to the console.

"Once again, thank you, Captain Obvious," I mutter, reaching out to help Clara up as well. I breathe in sharply when the simple touch makes patches on my hands sting. Looking down at my hands in shock, I realize the burns are a little worse than I thought. Still not bad, though. I'll live.

Clara flashes me a quick smile in gratitude, brushing herself off. "So we're not here," she says.

The Doctor smacks a lever, frustrated. "We must be close," I reason, watching him stalk over to the doors and throw them open.

"No," he whispers, suddenly distraught. Furrowing my brows, I head over and peer out under his arm. The planet is just like I remember from the episode, all ashes and magma.

"What's wrong?" I ask quietly.

"I should have known, I should have realized when I saw those coordinates," he says, more to himself to me. He closes his eyes and lets out a slow breath. "Trenzalore isn't the first name this planet has had. It used to be called Orpheus Major."

I rack my brains for any mention of a planet named Orpheus Major, but come up short. Then again, I haven't exactly seen all the episodes of the classic series, and while I have a pretty great memory for details I can't always remember them _all_.

"Orpheus Major was . . . the first place I ever traveled to off Gallifrey," he continues. "You'd never know it now, but it was so beautiful, then. That was . . . where I proposed, where we had the wedding…"

"Oh," I say. Hesitantly, I reach out a hand and rest it on his arm. "I'm sorry."

He glances at me with a half-smile, but his attention is still captivated by the ruins of a planet that apparently meant so much to him. I want to say something else, something better, but what could I possibly say? This place is so many good memories for him, important memories, and now we're standing here staring at its ashes.

With a pang, I realize that in a way, I can almost empathize. What pain he must be feeling.

"So," Clara begins from behind us, having seen the planet below as well. "How do we get down there? Jump?"

"Don't be silly!" the Doctor says, jumping back into his childish persona with the ease that comes with hundreds of years' practice. He closes the doors; they slam shut with an air of finality. "We fall. She's turned off practically everything, except the anti-gravs."

"Let me guess," I say resignedly. He points his sonic screwdriver at the console. "You're turning off the anti-gravs."

"Yup."

"I hate you."

The TARDIS plummets to the ground below.

…

"I hate you," I repeat, once again picking myself up off the floor.

"No you don't," he says cheerfully, holding out a hand to help me up. He hands me a little blue and white polka-dotted backpack, which is empty except for the sunset-colored journal and a small first aid kit. "Just in case." He doesn't offer any further explanation, merely opening the door and stepping out. I swing the backpack over one shoulder as Clara and I follow warily.

"You okay?" she asks, concerned. "Visiting your own grave – anyone would be scared."

"It's more than that. I'm a time traveler. I've probably time traveled more than anyone else."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning . . . my grave is potentially the most dangerous place in the universe." He holds out his hand to me, while Clara shuts the TARDIS door behind us. "Shall we?"

I take the proffered hand after a moment of hesitation, and we begin our trek through ashes and soot.

"What exactly are we looking for, anyway?" Clara asks. "How will we know when we've found it?"

"Trust me, you'll know," I mutter. And we do, for once we pass the next hill, we see the TARDIS – enormous and old and broken. The TARDIS of the future.

"Well," Clara comments, eyes wide. "Bright side – it's a helluva monument."

"It's the TARDIS," the Doctor says sadly.

"I can see that."

"No, Clara, he means it's literally the TARDIS," I tell her softly. The Doctor holds my hand tightly.

"When a TARDIS is dying, sometimes the dimension dam starts breaking down," he says. "They used to call it a size leak, all the bigger-on-the-inside starts leaking to the outside. It grows." He looks straight ahead, gaze hard. "So yeah, when I say that's the TARDIS, I mean that is my TARDIS, from the future."

"Are . . . are you okay?" I ask uncertainly, and then have to resist the urge to hit myself. Of course he's not okay, he's about to walk into his own damn grave!

But when he looks back at me, his mouth is quirked in that half-smile again. "Always worrying about me," he whispers, squeezing my hand gently. My eyes widen, just as the smile falters. What exactly is _that_ supposed to mean? Ignoring my questioning stare, he tugs me forward.

Out of the corner of my eye I see a flash, and instinctively turn my head to see what's going on. River strides toward us in all her curly-haired glory. She's not wearing the same clothes as when we were in the dreamscape together, but a leather jacket, dark jeans, and black combat boots. There's also a blaster strapped to her hip. I have to wonder if this isn't the data ghost River that showed up in the original episode, but an alive one. The Doctor stops and turns toward her too, though, so I guess I have my answer.

"Do you ever actually listen to me?" she asks, rolling her eyes. "Not you, Leona, I know how early it is for you, but _him_?" She points at him with her thumb, shaking her head with exasperation. "He never learns, does he?"

The Doctor rolls his eyes right back, then grins and releases my hand in order to give her a hug.

"Diaries, then?" she suggests, pulling back from the hug. "I know this is early for Leona, since this is her first time meeting me, but I don't know exactly how early."

"Um," I say. The Doctor avoids her eyes, and doesn't reach out to hold my hand again.

"Oh," she breathes, peering between the two of us. "You're not . . . ?"

"At the beginning," the Doctor confirms hastily. I swallow and stare at the ground. They seem so sad that this is the first time I've met them, but what about me? I get ripped away from everything I know and thrust into this new world full of strangers who already know who I am. My future is more uncertain than ever. Don't I deserve to be upset more than them?

I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms, and push away those thoughts. They're selfish and they're not helping anyone, least of all me. "What about you two, then?" I ask, trying to get the attention off of me. They share a look, plaster some obviously fake smiles on their faces, and start comparing.

River's clearly known the Doctor and I for quite a while, but I can't gather from their conversation how close she is to the end of her timeline. Then again, as I was thinking before, events have already changed. River's truly here, alive and well, and not just a data ghost. The face of Dr. Simeon, also known as the Great Intelligence, didn't appear when the Whisper Men invaded the dreamscape. For goodness sake, _I'm_ here.

_I hate this._

"Doctor?" Clara calls nervously from where we left her. "I think you may want to see this."

The three of us look at each other, then dash back over to the companion. "What is it?" the Doctor asks worriedly, stopping right next to her. "What—" He stops short.

It's River's grave.

"That can't be right," River murmurs, crouching down and running her fingers along the name. "Also, hello, Clara."

"Hi?" she says uncertainly. "Wait, if this is your grave, why are you here?"

"Because he never listens to me," the curly-haired professor answers with another roll of her eyes. "I tell him not to go somewhere, he does it anyway. Sometimes I think it's just to spite me. And this isn't my grave."

"How do you know?" I frown. _I_ know it's not, but if she's not actually dead yet, how could _she_ know that?

She glances up at me and sighs. "I'd be buried under a different name, is all," she says, standing up and taking a step back. Distantly, I begin to hear harsh whispers, and spin around. Fear slithers up my throat in the form of a strangled yelp. _No, no, no, please_. It was one thing in the dream, a nightmare, but I can't. I can't do this.

The Whisper Men are coming for us.

The other three turn around when they hear my yell, and both River and the Doctor run in front of me as the Whisper Men continue to approach. River pulls her blaster at the same time the Doctor aims the sonic.

"And again," River shakes her head, making sure to keep her eyes on the Whisper Men as she shoots at them. The sonic buzzes at them, but nothing happens. He slaps the tool against his hand and tries again. "What do you expect to do with that, build a fence around them?"

_Well, it's not like she can talk_. Her blasts connect time after time, true, but the destroyed Whisper Men just reconstruct time after time.

"This man must fall, as all men must," they chant quietly. "The fate of all is always dust."

I continue to cower behind them as we begin to back away, Clara clutching my arm fearfully. _We need to get out of here_, I think frantically, glancing around in desperation for some form of salvation. My eyes catch on the tombstone, which despite not belonging to her, bears the name _River Song._

"The grave," I whisper, then raise my voice to be heard. "It's a false grave!"

"And?" River calls over her shoulder. She blasts one of the Whisper Men without even looking.

"And it's got to lead somewhere!" I yell, dragging Clara along towards it. "Anyone for a secret entrance to the tomb?"

I see the Doctor smack himself in the forehead with the sonic screwdriver out of the corner of his eye. Probably wondering why he hadn't thought of it. "Yes, of course, makes sense," he says as he and River dash back towards us. He glances at her. "We'd – _they'd_ never have buried you out here."

River scoffs, as if she knows exactly what he was going to say and just what exactly that means, and covers us with her gun while the Doctor sonics the grave. I open my mouth, eyes wide, to warn them, just when the ground opens up beneath us. As we are dropped into the darkness below, my mind flashes back to the last time I fell, fell so far, fell into this crazy, dangerous universe and out of my own.

I scream.

…

"Leona, Leona, it's okay," is the first thing I hear through the sound of my own sobbing. The Doctor smooths a tangle of hair out of my face and envelopes my hands in his. "Shh, we're all okay, it wasn't even a long drop."

I sniff hard and bite my lip, trying to stop crying. Salty tears slide down my face and drip into my mouth. _Stop being so ridiculous, _I try to tell myself. _You're wailing like a child at a simple little fall. _But it's more than that. Once again, everything's catching up to me. I'll never go home, never see my family again. I may not even make it out of here _alive_. Someone _always _dies on these adventures, and no matter what the Doctor and River say about meeting me before, I don't doubt it will be me.

"I'm sorry," I hiccup, voice breaking. Someone pulls me into a hug, but it's not the Doctor.

"You don't have to be sorry," River murmurs in my ear. "I know what you're going through."

_Does she really? _I wonder. It's not a vicious thought. I truly do wonder if she knows. Sure, anyone could sympathize, but could they really empathize? And then I remember.

If anyone could come even close to knowing what I'm going through, it would be River.

After that, my crying dies down quickly. I give River a watery smile in gratitude, before pulling away to wipe my eyes. She and the Doctor grab one of my hands each and squeeze comfortingly; River lets go, but the Doctor laces our fingers together tightly. I'm relieved, unsure if I could deal without someone else right next to me. He's an anchor.

We're in a small, dusty chamber with only one door. The hole above us has closed off, leaving us in almost complete darkness. I hadn't realized it before, thinking it was just that my eyes were closed, but now I step closer to the Doctor. Usually I'm not afraid of the dark, but considering where we are, well. Can't be too cautious, can I?

River leads us through the door, blaster aimed carefully ahead. "Mind the roots," the Doctor warns when I stumble over a particularly large one; they're growing all over the tunnel. I wrinkle my nose and step more cautiously. The Doctor spots a torch on the wall, lighting it with the sonic screwdriver and taking it down.

"Where are we?" Clara asks, trying to peer through the darkness. Even with the light of the torch, it's hard to see very far.

"Catacombs," he answers.

"I hate catacombs," River mutters, lowering her blaster, but still ready to fire at a moment's notice.

"You would," I mumble, thinking of the _Byzantium. _She flashes me a smirk.

We wander through the catacombs for what seems like eternity, though I'm sure it's only been a few minutes. It's too dark, too cold, too _wrong_. I shiver, goosebumps rising along my skin.

"How much farther?" Clara whispers.

"Who knows?" River says. "The TARDIS – it was very far away. Could take ages."

The Doctor is eerily quiet. I glance over at him, to see him just staring straight ahead. His face is hard, eyes determined; he holds my hand in a death grip. I'd forgotten how scary, how painful, this must be for him. We're walking into the future remains of his TARDIS, which is also where he's going to be buried in the future. Or maybe not? Doesn't that change when the Gallifreyan Council gives him a new set of regenerations – but then how could this be happening now?

_My head hurts._

I close my eyes briefly, squeezing his hand as comfortingly as I can. The Doctor has been there for me ever since I woke up, nothing but kind and understanding even when I couldn't do anything but cry, and I want to repay him in kind. He gives me a small smile, still holding onto me as if I'm a beacon in a storm. I suppose in a way, I am. Just like he was mine only a short time ago.

It occurs to me, in the back of my mind, to question why he seems so keen to hold _my_ hand, out of everyone's, but I ignore it. Now is not exactly the time to get into that, and I'm not quite sure I _want_ to know. Not just yet, anyway.

I'm broken out of my thoughts by a scream. The Doctor whirls around, and I stumble awkwardly after him, since my hand is still caught in his. A single Whisper Man has Clara by the wrist, and she desperately tugs at the limb while River blasts the thing in the non-existent face again and again.

The Doctor finally releases my hand and dashes forward to grab her arm and help her pull away. They stumble backwards, the Whisper Man still reaching for one of us, any of us. "Come on, run!" the Doctor shouts, ushering us away from the monster. "Run!" Even in our haste, it doesn't escape my notice that his hand somehow manages to find mine once again.

…

_Oh god, I am so not a fan of all this running_, I realize soon after, out of breath and practically being dragged along by the Doctor. I might enjoy jogging from time to time, or a very rare short sprint, but I've always known I'm not in great shape. The idea that all this (extremely excessive) physical activity is something I'm going to have to get used to fills me with dread.

We've already lost the Whisper Man, but the Doctor continues to pull me along, and it occurs to me that we might be lost. "Do we even know where we're going?" I call, panicked. There's all sorts of branching paths and multiple doorways in these catacombs – what if we turn down the wrong one?

"Course we do!" the Doctor shouts back.

"Is that a lie?"

The Doctor skids to a halt right outside a door, the momentum of our run throwing me into him. He turns and looks directly into my eyes. Hurt is painted on his face. "Of course not," he says softly. "You don't trust me?" He looks heartbroken at the thought.

"I do," I admit hesitantly, feeling bad about hurting him. "…and I don't. I wouldn't put it past you to lie to make me feel better. Or something."

"I will never lie to you," he tells me, sounding utterly sincere. And for a minute, I almost believe him. But what if that's a lie too?

_Rule 1: the Doctor lies._

I always hated that rule.

"It should be right through here," River points out, ending the slightly awkward moment of silence. I look away, and the Doctor releases my hand as we walk through the door. Nausea burbles up inside me the moment we step into the TARDIS, and I take a few deep breaths to try to calm my suddenly upset stomach.

"Come on, quickly," he says, apparently having recovered his sense of urgency. A few corridors down, there's a staircase. "Bit of a climb. Think I remember the way."

I'm beginning to feel really sick now, but with the exception of Clara's slightly more tired face, no one seems all that bothered. So I keep up as much as I can, rubbing my belly, hoping it will settle down a bit.

Despite my best effort, I start to lag behind. River is the first one to notice, and she falls back in order to help me forward. "Da – Doctor!" she barks worriedly when I trip and stumble over my own feet.

"What?" He spins around and runs back to us. "Oh, Leona, it's okay. The dimensioning forces this deep in the TARDIS, they can make you a bit giddy."

"Mmmph," I groan quietly. River runs a hand up and down my back soothingly; I lean into it with a half-smile of gratitude. "Nobody else seems to feel this way." Oh look, I'm whining. Great.

"Oh," he says, as if he just realized that, face falling. He whips out the sonic and buzzes me with it quickly. I wrinkle my nose.

"Is it…?" Clara ventures to ask, trailing off with a sideways glance at me.

"No, no." The Doctor sighs, slipping the sonic back into his breast pocket and running a hand through his hair. "…not yet, anyway."

"Is it what?" I ask, slightly concerned and slightly annoyed as the Doctor wraps an arm around my waist to support me. (Which is completely unnecessary, by the way.) Apparently this concerns me and my future, and I hate that they're keeping it from me.

The other three share a look, and shake their heads. "Spoilers," River explains. I frown.

"Can we not start that?" I huff, resisting the urge to cross my arms grumpily. "I happen to read spoilers all the time. I hate mysteries."

"I know," she and the Doctor say in unison. Clara just smiles, amused.

"You never were very good at them," the blonde professor smiles.

I'm caught off-guard by this, still trying to get used to how well they know me when I've really only just met them. River grimaces at the wide-eyed look I give her, as if just remembering this herself. "Sorry," she offers quietly. "This must be a lot to take in."

"_You're so young_," I finish at the same time as her, sighing. "How did I know you were going to say that?"

"Because you are," the Doctor mutters under his breath, but since I'm still being held up by his arm around me, I can hear it perfectly clear. I look at him for a long moment, then set my jaw and stare straight ahead. They seem to sense that the conversation is over, and we continue forward, the Doctor helping me along when the bouts of nausea cause me to stumble. I wish I knew why my body is reacting this way, why everyone else seems okay when I'm not. I hate myself for being such a burden to them, for being so weak.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and a faint whispering starts up behind us.

"The man who lies . . . will lie no more . . . when this man lies at Trenzalore," the whispers slowly become clearer, forming the ominous words.

"Run!" shouts the Doctor, practically carrying me when I don't react fast enough for him.

Oh, this is _so _not good.

…

"Well, here I am," the Doctor announces, momentarily ignoring my heavy panting as we skid to a halt in the innermost part of the dead TARDIS, where the Paternoster Gang (including Jenny, whom I'm relieved to see is okay), a few Whisper Men, and a figure all in black are located. The figure is facing away from us, so I can't tell who it is, but it's most definitely not the Great Intelligence. "Late to my own funeral."

"That shouldn't be surprising," River adds. "He's late to everything." He shoots her a quick glare before turning back to the figure.

"Oh, always," drawls the figure in the slimiest voice I've ever heard, a familiar voice that sends shivers down my spine. The figure turns around.

"Madame Kovarian," the Doctor growls, tightening his grip on me. River stiffens on my other side, and I reach out to grab her hand. She holds it in a death grip, and a glance shows me that her face is full of carefully contained rage and a hint of pain. "I should have known. It's always you, isn't it?"

"Of course," the eye-patched woman smirks. "You should have died long ago, Doctor. Don't think I'll give up so easily."

"Easy?" River scoffs. "You call all of that _easy_?!"

"I thought Amy said she killed you," Clara adds. "_You_ should be dead."

"Time was dying," Kovarian dismisses them. "A fixed point can never be broken, after all. Cheated, maybe." She glares hatefully at the Doctor and, surprisingly, me. I shrink back from her gaze. "But never broken. When the rightful timeline was restored, so was I."

"I should have known," the Doctor snarls, stalking forward. I stumble forward too, still caught in his grasp. "Evil like you never dies, does it? You always come back to haunt us."

"Yes," Kovarian says simply. "And I've even upgraded. What do you think of my new monsters, Doctor? They're oh so lovely. And deadly. Shall I give you a practical demonstration?"

"Stay away from them," he says lowly. It's not even directed at me, but I shiver again at the threat in his tone.

"Then open the door, Doctor," she says with a sickly sweet smile. "Open your _tomb_."

"No."

Kovarian laughs, a wicked sound. "That's it? Just _no_?"

"I will not open those doors."

"They say the key is a word lost to time. A secret hidden in the deepest shadow and known to you alone," the woman spits. "The answer to a question. The question you must never answer, and yet now you'll have to."

"I told you, I won't!"

"What is your name?" Dead silence. I gulp and instinctively press myself closer to the Doctor. Even if this is so different from everything I thought I knew would happen, I definitely know what's going to happen next. Kovarian sighs and shakes her head, as if disappointed with all of us. "On your own head. Oh boys," she sing-songs. "Kill the spares."

"Leave them alone!" the Doctor shouts as the Whisper Men advance towards the Paternoster Gang, Clara, and River. River's gun is pointed at the monsters, but it's useless and she knows it. Clara seems to be looking around for either an escape route or something to hit them with. "Stop!"

"Madame, boys, combat formation!" Strax yells, attempting to back away. "They are unarmed!"

"So are we!" snaps Jenny.

"Do not divulge our military secrets."

The Whisper Men stretch their hands out menacingly. "Doctor, they're going to stop their hearts," I whimper worriedly. I'm scared.

"Don't do this!" he yelps, beginning to fade from furious to frantic. "They have nothing to do with this!"

"They're your friends," Kovarian shrugs. "That's involved enough. Now, Doctor. Your name."

"Doctor!" Clara calls nervously, huddling as close to River's protection as she can.

"Doctor who?"

All of a sudden, Strax screams in pain, scrabbling at the hand of a Whisper Man that's stuck in his chest. I squeeze my eyes shut, just about ready to start bawling. I never wanted to come here, I never wanted to take part in this danger. I knew it would turn out like this. Either I would get hurt, die even, or someone else would while I stand around uselessly. I just want to disappear. I just want to go home.

"Doctor who?"

"Unhand me, sir!" Strax hollers, letting out a groan of pain.

"Leave him alone," the Doctor begs, "let him be."

"Don't worry, sir," the Sontaran pants, "I think I've got him rattled."

"Doctor!" Clara calls again. She and the others are surrounded, unable to get away. "Doctor!"

"River!" I screech in warning, seeing a Whisper Man lunge for her. She just barely dodges, nearly losing her gun in the process.

"_Doctor who?_"

"Please!" he cries brokenly.

Time stops.

…

Behind us, the doors creak open ominously. The Doctor turns around slowly, his grip on me slackening until it's completely gone. The nausea hasn't completely gone, but I have the strength to stand on my own. This is more important than some silly queasiness anyway, and much more life-threatening.

"Why did you open the door, sir?" Strax demands. "I had them on the run!"

"I didn't do it," he murmurs. "I didn't say my name."

"No." It's a new speaker, a woman. Her voice is strange, higher than I feel like it should be. But it's familiar. And then with a flash, I recognize it. It's _my_ voice. "But I did."

My eyes are so wide they'll probably pop out of my head as I watch myself – my future self, I assume – smile tightly, unhappy with the situation but unwilling to show it, and sashay over to the Doctor. "Sorry, sweetie. Had to happen," she explains quietly. "This is how it goes."

He nods uncertainly, but his eyes sparkle at the endearment. She . . . the other me . . . turns to me and smiles gently. "How . . . ?" I begin, feeling entirely out of my depth, and trail off.

"This kinda thing tends to happen around him," she says, jerking her head towards the Doctor. "Better get used to it."

"Right," I say awkwardly.

Behind me, River is helping up Clara and the rest are brushing themselves off, silent after their brush with death. Kovarian is smirking at us all; I eye her face warily and try to make myself look braver than I really am. The other me looks confident enough, so I try to copy her, probably failing miserably.

"That was not nice," coughs Clara. River wraps an arm around her shoulders and nods.

"Not at all," she agrees.

"At least you're all okay," the future me – I really need something to call her – says, hugging the two of them tightly. And I feel . . . almost jealous. Of myself.

_Great. Now I'm going crazy. Stop being so stupid, Lee._

Kovarian begins to step forward, and I quietly point her out to the Doctor. "Do you even know what's in there?" he demands of her.

"Of course," she smirks, gesturing for him to go first. "Your death."

…

The doors are pushed completely open with a groan, and two by two (excepting Kovarian, whom nobody wants to go near) we climb the stairs. I hold the Doctor's hand tightly, trying not to stumble over my own feet again, glancing back every few steps at the eye-patched woman with paranoia. I don't trust her to be at my back, even if she seems content to wait until we reach our destination before, presumably, killing us all.

Fairly soon I can see the top of the stair, which lets us out into what had been the console room. Now, however, it's the Doctor's final resting place. Instead of the console, there's a glowing column made of strands of crackling light writhing around each other.

"What's that?" Clara questions, brow furrowed.

"What were you expecting, a body?" the Doctor says. "Bodies are boring, I've had loads of 'em."

"That's not what the tomb is for," the future me shakes her head and leads us up so that we're even with the column.

"But what is the light?" Vastra asks.

"It's beautiful," comments Jenny in awe.

"Should I destroy it?" Strax says.

"Shut up, Strax."

"Alright, Doctor, explain," Clara demands, bringing the attention back to her. "What is that?"

"…the tracks of my tears," he says after a moment of deliberation.

"Not just that," the future me continues. "It's him. Everything he's ever done."

River closes her eyes briefly. "Of course," she breathes. "The damage."

"I'm not getting this," Clara says.

"Time travel is damage, like a tear in the fabric of reality," River explains.

"And that," the Doctor nods toward the glowing column. "That is my scar. The scar tissue of my journey through the universe, my path through time and space, from Gallifrey to . . . to Trenzalore."

The light is mesmerizing, and as I focus on it, I can almost hear the voices of different companions and different Doctors. Even my own voice is mixed in there, repeating things that I haven't even said yet, but the Doctor had heard me say a very long time ago.

"This shouldn't actually exist," the future me says seriously. "It's incredibly dangerous. There used to be precautions against the time-space scar tissue, besides just a passcode lock." She glances at the Doctor, and the both of them look incredibly sad. "But I suppose without the Time Lords…"

"There was no way to put the precautions in place," he finishes. "So there it is. My own personal time tunnel. All the days I've ever lived, even the ones that—" He swallows. "I, er. Even the ones that I haven't lived yet." And with that, he collapses.

"Doctor!" shouts three or four of our group in unison, rushing to his side.

"Which is why I shouldn't be here," he explains through gritted teeth. "The paradox…"

"Very bad," Clara finishes. And Kovarian begins to laugh.

Everyone turns to glare at her fiercely, but she ignores us, continuing to laugh as she steps purposely towards the light.

"What are you doing?" the Doctor demands.

"Your life is an open wound, Doctor," Kovarian says gleefully. "And anything open can be entered."

"It would destroy you!" River warns her.

The Doctor frowns. "You hate me so much that you would kill yourself to destroy me?"

The woman turns around, her one visible eye piercing through us. "Yes," she says simply. "After all you've done, all I've done, everything we've gone through, how could I not? It might kill me, but at least I'll be taking you to hell with me. I'll rewrite your every living moment, turn every one of your victories into defeats. I will kill you at every point in your life, twice over at Lake Silencio just like you were meant.

"The great Doctor, the Oncoming Storm, the Renegade, the Last of the Time Lords, you will die by my hand!"

"Stop her!" River orders, grasping for her gun. The Paternoster Gang attempts to spring into action, but it's all too late. Madame Kovarian steps backwards into the open wound of the Doctor's timeline with one last smirk and screams.

…

The Doctor writhes in pain on the floor, crying out. I try to comfort him, hushing him softly, holding his hand. Clara does the same on his other side, and the future me and River are arguing quietly a few feet away. The Paternoster Gang has already left, rightfully fearing the consequences of the Doctor's deaths.

"No, please," he moans, "Stop, my life . . . my whole life is burning."

On the verge of tears myself, I brush the hair out of his eyes. "I'm sorry," I whisper to him. "I'm so sorry. I should have stopped this, this should never have happened…"

"This is what happens, River!" the future me shouts. I jump, and look up to see the two of them staring at each other. "Darling, I don't like it any more than you do, but this is how it happened. This cannot be rewritten, not one line. This is my—" She glances at me, briefly catching my eyes, before quickly looking away. "This is her beginning."

River looks at her and seems to consider her words. "What would you have me do?"

"Take Clara home." The reaction is immediate: both Clara and River protest, loudly. The future me holds up her hand, silencing them. "Listen. I need to talk to my younger self alone. You know this will turn out okay, you have all the proof you need in my very existence. Go home, and the Doctor and I will be with you as soon as this is all over."

"We can't just leave you!" River argues.

"You can, and you will," she says firmly, crossing her arms. They have a small staring contest for a few moments, until River lets out a sigh.

"Fine," the blonde concedes grudgingly, turning to Clara, who clambers to her feet reluctantly.

"Are you absolutely sure?" the brunette asks firmly, refusing to go anywhere quite yet. "Promise me that everything will be okay."

"I promise," swears the other me. Clara narrows her eyes at the other woman, as if analyzing to see if she's telling the truth or not. Then she nods, and grabs hold of River's vortex manipulator. The two of them flash away after making the future me promise once again to go to them the moment everything is over.

"What now?" I whisper, scared. The other woman, the older, supposedly wiser version of me, sighs and runs a hand through her hair.

"C'mere," she says quietly. "I need to show you something."

Hesitantly, I let go of the Doctor – who lets out another moan of pain – and walk over to her. She points at the column of light.

"You're future's in here, too," she says. My eyes go wide, and I peer into the light. Images flash in quick succession: laughing with River and the Doctor, punching Rory in the shoulder, saluting Martha, eating chips with Rose and the Doctor, and more, where I actually seem _happy_.

But there's other images too, darker images that I can't see very well, that only leave impressions. Running, fear, anger. Hurt. Pain beyond belief, grief, death, destruction, Gallifrey burning, burning, burning, and I'm falling, falling, falling…

With a shriek, I tear my eyes away from the column, spinning around to look at my future self. "What the hell was that?" I demand, tears pouring down my face.

"Your future," she says simply.

"But I – I never wanted this," I say loudly. My face crumples like tissue paper; hers is twisted in openly pained empathy. "I just want to go _home_."

"I know," she reminds me gently. "I was you once, right? And I'm so sorry." I whimper. Does that mean I really never get home? "I really am. But I have to do this, to save our pasts—" She gestures to herself and the man lying prone on the floor in pain, then looks back up at me beseechingly. "—and your future. And hey, you'll be saving the universe. That's gotta be worth something."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I sniffle, taking an unconscious, uncertain step back as she steps forward. "What do you have to do?"

"It's going to hurt like nothing else, and you're going to hate me for a long time," says the other me instead of answering my question. Her mouth quirks briefly at the irony before she grabs my shoulders tightly, growling and ignoring my yelp as the points of contact spark, both of our faces twisting from the slight pain. _The Blinovitch Limitation Effect, _my mind distantly supplies as the cause. The paradox of the same person from two different points in their timeline touching each other. "But it is so worth it, and one day you'll realize that."

"What are you doing?" I cry out, trying to wrestle myself from her grip. Yet not only is she older, she's stronger, and in my panicked and queasy state I can't push her off.

"And one more thing," she whispers apologetically, pressing her fingers down on my arms, like she's trying to be certain that I'm paying close enough attention to her words. "The Whisper Men are still out there."

With that last ominous warning, she shoves me, hard, and I fall into the light with a scream.

…

She was definitely right about the pain.


End file.
